Running from the shepherd
by Murron Bartlett
Summary: Silencing the little lamb, clarice's tale.


Author's note: I do not own The Silence of the Lambs. I only wanted to make an educated guess about what happened when Clarice woke on that cold morning, to the awful screaming of the lambs. I know the lamb died in the film but I didn't want that to happen here. The poor kid had been threw so much already. I only hope her life is being made a little brighter threw this story. Please read and review.

Clarice Starling woke with a jolt from her usual nightmair, the same one she had had most nights for the past few months. It was the one where her father looked into her eyes and spoke his final words before he died in that hospital bed. His eyes were so clear to her, so vivid, and his voice was so gentle as he held her hand in his, his smile so soft. His smile was much softer than his face.

But Clarice was catapulted from her sleeping nightmair, straight into another.

She sat up in bed, throwing the covers from her bed in one smooth and terrified movement. Her head wipped round as she caught the sounds that had woken her.

A high pitched, agonised screaming rent the air around her, entering Clarice's young mind with the force and sensation of an icey knife cutting deep into her head. It seemed to come from all sides. The walls reverberated with it.

That scream, a keening cry of pain. It chilled Clarice's blood and caused her heart to flutter franticly like a wild bird trapped inside a cage from which it could not escape.

She was on her feet before she knew it, and had stumbled across to the window in a blind and somewhat desperate panick. Pulling back the curtains of her tiny bedroom, Clarice squinted out of the window and out into the cold night.

Moonlight slanted threw the gap in her curtains, glinting across her bedside table and shining onto her ten yearold face, grown older by harsh experience. The slanting silver light illuminated the world ous outside the safe haven of her bedroom, and she could see everything with vivid clarity.

A single light shimmered threw the frost smothered darkness, coming from the barn at the far end of the yard. The glimmers of gold shone threw into Clarice's window as she finally realised what was going on. The light from the barn. The screams. It all made sense. The agonised cries were coming from the barn. Where the animals were kept.

Stumbling backwards, Clarice fumbled for the handle of her bedroom door and slipped out into the night, neglecting to close it behind her. She ran down the stairs, hair flying and eyes shining with frightened tears as she pelted towards the front door, wrenching it open. Her powerful imagination was already teeming with grusom and gory freeze frames, a child's frightened speculations of what could be going on.

The cold air slapped Clarice hard in the face and she gasped with the sudden intensity of it. She walked threw the yard, ignoring the scattered tools and farm machinery that lay around in all directions, following the sound of the screaming. It grew steadily louder with every halting step she took across the farm yard, and her heart hammered in her chest. Pushing against the invisible force of her own fear, she made her way towards those unearthly cries.

The sight that greeted the young girl upon arriving at the barn door, was one of carnidge and mayhem. The ranch men were there, slaughtering the lambs. That was where the cries had come from. The cries had come from these animals as they were slaughtered in their pen, one by one, by the men that her new adopted father had employed.

There was blood on the floor, rivulets of it and Clarice' Starling's terrified scream filled the air. She ran forward and wrenched at the gate to the lambs' pen. It was stiff, and she threw her shoulders into it, pulling at the door with all of her ten yearold strength.

It opened with a loud clang and the lambs who were still living, raised their heads to look at Clarice, the smallish ten yearold girl standing above them, face red with the effort and wet with the tears.

"Come on!" she cried, voice piersing the air. "Come on."

The lambs lifted their heads once more and bleeted pitifully, but none of them moved. They stood there, dumb and unaware of the death that would soon befall them, coming swiftly down the barrel of a farmer's gun.

"Move!" Clarice bawled, pummling the metal of the pen with her little fists in frustration, "Move. Come on."

But move they did not.

Clarice acted upon a whim. She entered the pen and scooped up a lamb, black faced and innocent looking. He weighed heavy in her arms as she carried him hurridly out of the barn and into the crisp Winter air. He bleeted in her ear and lay still in her arms. Clarice felt its little heart pounding against her chest as she ran across the yard. She could feel its fear. It was as frightened of the gun shots and the wailing cries as she herself was.

"Clarice!"

Clarice almost turned her head to acknowledge the shouted voice behind her, but walked doggedly on, the heavy weight of the lamb still shivering in her arms. The angry voice came again. "Cklarice. Come back here young lady."

She ignored it.

Leaving the farm was easy. She had been living at the ranch for months now and knew every inch of ground the piece of land consisted of. She knew every building, every cobble stone, every edge and corner of the place. And she knew how to get out. Clarice Starling was not a novice in the art of running away. She had done it many times before after all. And, her father had taught her how burglers entered and left places. So no, she did not find it difficult to get out.

It was the lonely treck up the lains and roads that was to be the hard part. The lamb who lay nestled with its head in the crook of her arm was growing heavy, and Clarice was shivering. It was so cold. So very very cold. She wore no shoes on her feet, only thin socks and slippers, and her night gown flapped around her bare knees as she ran up the hill. . Her short hair bounsed around her sharp boned face and she wandered ever onwards.

She took one look back at the ranch that had been her home for a good few months now, and she had begun to feel at home there. The people there had indeed treated Clarice very well. They had granted her her own bedroom, with a nice Indian rug covering the floor. They had fed her fine and, she had thought they had cared for her, had thought that her grieving mother had sent her to relatives who would take care of her. Clarice thought she had been safe.

A deep band of navy blue was slowly spreading across the sky as dawn approached slowly. The cold wind blew across the hills and valleys as a new day began. Frost covered the trees, silver light adding to the picture. Glittering puddles now formed into ice, crunched beneath Clarice Starling's feet as she tramped on and on, the heavy lamb now asleep in her arms. For now, at least this innocent creature was safe. If it took everything she had, this lamb would remain safe. Clarice would protect him.

The low rumbling of cars was approaching. Clarice stepped off the road and onto the grass verge, to walk in safety. The navy sky was growing pailer and heavy grey snow clouds skidded across the horizon, threatening more torrants for the day to come. It was cold. Bitterly cold. Clarice shivered and clung to the warm body of the lamb in her arms, breath making misty clouds in the air before her as she walked. She had to keep going. She couldn't stop for a moment, because if she did, they would catch her. Clarice was the lamb now to. She was the lamb, running from the shepard, running blind and running with terror, wanting only to escape the nightmair that had become reality.

But she couldn't keep this up for much longer. Her feet jarred on unfermiliar ground. Her back and arms were aching from holding the lamb for so long and her slipper clad feet were killing her.

Her breath made clouds in the air as she moved slowly, head bowed, eyes on her feet as she walked doggedly on, unable to stop. It was the fear that was driving her. The fear of being caught. The fear that this lamb would be shot once they found her. The fear that she would be punished.

She was growing tired. Increasingly tired. How long had she come? She had no idea. One mile? One mile and a half? Maybe two? It felt like she had been walking for ever. She had to stop, just for a moment while she caught her breath. It wouldn't be for long.

Settling down upon a small patch of grass, she held the sleeping infant lamb in her arms and cuddled him. She would just rest for a second or two, then in a few moments she would get back up and continue her journey. Just a few more seconds. A few seconds more. What harm could it do? Just a few more seconds.

She leaned forward, protecting him with her body incase one of the farm hands should come and find her.

Her eye lids began to droop and she sighed. She was so tired. Her limbs felt heavy and she found that she didn't have enough energy to raise her head.

Light flurries of snow began to drift lazily down from the sagging grey sky, and flakes landed on her hair, melting as she sat there, too tired to brush them away. Flakes of snow landed on her cheeks, and on the lamb's furr, but she ignored it.

Sleep closed in on her, dragging her back into the blackness. Like an old video that was waiting to start up, the same old nightmair began, beginning with the shooting of town marshel Starling, and ending with his kiss upon his only daughter's cheek, and telling her that he loved her and that he was proud of her.

Clarice was not sure how long she sat there on the grass verge but slowly, snow began to settle over her body, cloaking her in white. The sun crepped innocently across the sky and shone weakly down upon the crisp white world below it. Upon the trees, the old cars with snow on their roovs , and on the huddled form of Clarice Starling, sleeping in the middle of nowhere.

"Is she still alive?"

"No idea. Think I'll go and get some coffee."

A door slamming shut in the distance.

Clarice was jolted back to the waking world with sudden force for the second time that night. Also, for the second time that night, she woke screaming. Someone was shaking her violently. She was covered in snow, her hair wet with it, nightgown almost frozen with it. It clung to her skin and she could not shake it off. She shook herself violently, trying to relieve herself of the hands shoving at her shoulders.

Where was she? Clarice had a sensation of soft blankets tucked up to her chin, and warmth all around her, thawing her out and drying her up. She sat upright, the covers flying off and landing in a soft heep on the floor at her side. She was lying on a sofa, in the house she had stayed in for the past few months.

Her heart sank. She had been found. The shepard had come at last. Now she would pay for running off and stealing a lamb. .

The lamb.

"No!" she screamed in pure panick. The farm hands had found her. They had found her and she had been dragged back to the ranch. She would be locked in her bedroom for a week, and the lamb lying on her lap would be shot. She couldn't allow that to happen. She had seen those lambs die, and she would not allow that to happen to this one. Clarice could and would take the punishment, what ever they had planned.

No. Wait. The lamb was still with her, still held in her arms. They hadn't taken him from her.

"Hush now Clarice honey," said a soft voice, female and kind. Clarice recognised this as the voice of her foster mother. She sounded concerned as she leaned down, picked up the blanket and put it over Clarice once more. "You gave us such a fright Clarice. You shouldn't run away like that. You know that."

Clarice said nothing. "Nothing to say," she told herself, "anything I say will make it worse."

Her foster mum straightened the covers and tucked them round her. "Why did you run away? Roy said he saw you stealing a lamb from the pen last night, and that you ran off. Why?"

Clarice swallowed hard, trying hard not to cry. She would not cry. "I heard the lambs," she said in a choked up whisper. "I heard the lambs. They were screaming. I couldn't let you kill them. Not all of them."

Her foster mum, Vivian, let out a long low sigh. "Oh Clarice," she said sadly, stroking her hair gently, "I am sorry."

"Why did they do it?"

Vivian couldn't think of anything to say. She merely pulled back the blanket and made to lift the baby lamb out of Clarice's arms. Clarice clung to him, sobbing, refusing to allow her foster mum to pull him away from her. The lamb woke and bleeted softly, with a poignancy that seemed all too human. It lifted its tiny head and its bleeting only intensified. So did Clarice's sobs.

"Now now," Vivian hushed, trying hard to make her words sting less. What she was about to say, would hurt Clarice more. "I didn't think the boys killing the live stock would upset you." Now it was her turn to wipe her eyes. She had taken to this child, and she lothed herself for having to send her away. "I cannot allow you to get upset again Clarice. If the lambs dying upsets you then I don't think that this ranch is the place for you." She bit back a sob. "Now, I've contacted a nice family who will take you. They have sheep and horses to but they are well looked after and they keep these animals as pets. Would you like to stay there? Only I don't want you upset again. You could have died out there do you realise that? Frost bite has killed people before Clarice. You must not do that again."

"You're sending me away?" Her voice was small and suddenly lifeless. She had memorised this song before after all.

Vivian nodded gravely. "It has to be done sweety. This place isn't the right home for a little girl to grow up."

Clarice had fallen silent. They were sending her away. They were sending her away to go and live with some more strangers. She was going to be left alone again. But she had said that the killing of the livestock would upset her, so was that the reason they were sending her away? Was this why they had decided to send her to a new place? Were they doing this for her own good, as Vivian said they were? Even at the age of ten, Clarice searched deeply for answers.

"They have horses?"

Vivian nodded. "They have plenty of horses, and they said that sometimes children come to ride them so you will have plenty of children to befriend."

"Can I ride them to?"

The smile touched Vivian's eyes. "Of course you can.

A short pause followed this pronouncement, as Clarice Starling summoned up the bravery needed to ask this final question, dreading the outcome but needing to know the answer.

"And the lamb?" she asked, arms still cradling the tiny creature to her chest. "What will you do to him?"

"You can keep him," Vivian told her, ruffling the child's hair affectionately. "You obviously want to keep him safe. So you can keep him. They'll help you raise him on the ranch."

Clarice felt a smile touch her eyes. She did want to keep this little lamb safe. No way did she want him to enter that pen, only to be killed like the rest. He was innocent after all. He had done no harm to anyone and he needed someone to look after him.

They say that what we learn as children seldom goes unnoticed. They also say that our childhood experiences, form a basis for who we will be later on. This was true of Clarice. She had grown up within a police background, and knew of dangerous people. She had seen helplessness, and had heard the cries of the dying, the cries of the innocent.

But I doubt that even Clarice Starling could have guessed, that some years later, she would be working for the FBI, and rescuing more innocents , from even more dangerous situations. The mind is not entirely devoid of symbolism, and I don't think she could have pieced the truth together.

She would later become the shepard, protecting the lambs, and making sure, that the same thing never again repeated itself.


End file.
